


The Silver Lining

by Asauna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Content, Teenlock, teen!lock, were!john, werewolf!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5659201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asauna/pseuds/Asauna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John has no where left to turn, the head of the Holmes family decides to take him in. He's got one year left of secondary, has no proper friends aside from his rugby mates, and has a genetic illness that often finds him in the form of a wolf. Just what is he going to do to keep this from everyone in the household..?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys - This is my first time writing a story in quite some time. Years, even. I'm looking for a beta reader to go through and correct my grammar, and help me if I have road blocks. I am writing this story up as I go, so suggestions are always considered. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know how I'm doing!

To say that John Watson felt uneasy was an understatement. New home, new school, new life. But what was most concerning of all was that fact that none of these people knew the truth about him, and to keep that hidden would be the most difficult task of all. It wasn't as if he could just come right and say, “Hey, by the way, I'm a wolf! Funny story, that”. No, they'd throw him into a mad house until the shift came and then he'd be carted away for experimentation. 

Since he was still young, the shift often came against his will. Whether he was emotional about something, stressed out or even ill, the sickening shift of bones and skin forced itself with little hope of stopping. Sometimes he could feel that change begin to happen internally and get himself away to safety. And other times, he'd suddenly feel that searing pain that tore through is entire being without warning. This was why he had been home schooled the majority of his teenage years, until the accident that left him... Well, alone, for lack of a better term. 

He looked around his borrowed bedroom with unease, the scent of lingering dust and forgotten books being rather stifling to him. The place had been scrubbed down going by the sharp smell of bleach that remained in the bathroom and the soft scent of fabric softener against the sheets he was sat upon, but that did little to make a difference to him. This was not his home. This was not his den. This was not... Safe. 

But what could he do? He needed to finish Secondary and ship himself straight off into military. At least, that was what he had hoped to do if he could learn to control himself better. He had always wanted to be like his father in that aspect, always marveling at the heroic stories told. A hand reached up to unconsciously toy with the tags around his neck, keeping them near and dear in these moments. 

The sudden yet gentle knock on the door pulled the young man from his thoughts, tensing briefly as an older woman gently poked her head inside. Her smile could melt hearts, and she must have been quite beautiful when she was a young woman. “John dear, it's nearly time for supper. Do gather yourself and head down to the dining area.” She instructed him, only to receive an uneasy smile and light nod from the lad who remained tense until that door was closed again. 

To think his family had this sort of connection was beyond him, and he did wish just a tiny bit that he could've been left to his own devices. With no extended family around, and his waste of a sister Harry drinking away what little life she had, he truly had no where else to go. So when a man of the government reached out and offered a space to Hamish Watson's son, who was he to say no? He would only be here to finish up his final year and then be on his way. If only these people lived closer to town, so that he could get himself a job or something like that. 

Slowly he slipped off the uncomfortably large bed and headed for the door, adjusting his woolen jumper that look two sizes too large, hanging off his smaller body. Though he was home schooled, his mother had known better than to allow him to remain indoors without any form of physical stimulation, and he had been part of a Rugby league. Lovely muscles were etched into that slightly-tanned skin of his, both in part due to his love of the game, and just what he was. 

The young man shifted out of the room and down the rather large (and slightly obnoxious) corridor and down the grand staircase that fed into a large vestibule which had a few hallways feeding from it, as well as a set of double doors that served as an entrance to the manor he now resided in. He looked lost for a moment as he tried to come to terms with his surroundings, but instead began to follow the mouth-watering scent of a lovely Sunday feast. He couldn't wait to dig into a lovely plate of the roast that awaited, able to smell freshly baked Yorkshire Puddings and potatoes to go with it. The gravy and veg were his absolute favourite portion of the meal though, and he wondered if the people that cooked here could make this type of meal on more than just Sundays. As a “growing boy”, he did eat quite a bit. 

John listened to the soft sound of dishes clanging together and instead followed that as opposed to the scent that had filled his nose, soon coming to a grand dining room with only a few people uncomfortably sat at the head of the table. A man, Mr. Holmes, his wife, Mrs. Holmes, and their two sons. Mycroft who was already in Uni, who dressed impeccably with an uneasy air about him, and the quiet boy Sherlock who was only a year younger than himself, yet was in all accelerated courses. This family was quite the abnormal bunch, which was part of his hesitation in being here. 

He could feel their eyes upon him though he disregarded the urge to turn around and run back up the stairs, instead making his way to sit beside the younger boy where his setting was already made up. The food was sat upon the table, the servers just getting the last bowl out. He'd just made it to the meal, it seemed. He waited until Mr. Holmes picked up his own utensils, his wife reaching for her glass of wine and Mycroft already nibbling at his Yorkshire Pudding. The boy to his right had already had food set upon his plate, but he didn't look the least bit interested in eating. 

John had been here 3 days and had come to realise a few things about this boy. A) He didn't eat. No matter what meal they were at, he would only toy with his food and make it appear he'd ingested something, when in reality, not a single thing had been removed from the plate. B) He didn't talk. No matter what the conversation was, he didn't appear interested, focusing solely on... Well, nothing. He actually appeared to be lost in thought the majority of the time, if John were being honest. C) He'd not yet seen Sherlock out of his room. Aside for the times he was forced out (like right now), the young man made sure to keep himself hidden from sight. Sometimes John could hear the sound of something akin to a violin when he wandered past, but due to how thick the walls were in this place, by the time he got back to his own room he couldn't hear a thing. 

There was a single upside to being in this place: The space outside. This manor, which was about a half hour outside of central London had a few acres to itself. There was a small bit of forest on the land, a lake hidden somewhere, and neighbors were absent. When John knew a change was happening, he could sneak out and claim he were going for a run. In doing so, he could shift without fear and tire himself out before returning. There was always a silver lining... 

His eyes lifted to glance between the different members of the Holmes family, all of whom were perfectly fine with eating in peace and quiet. No 'How was your day', or 'Did you see the movie where...', or anything to that effect. It was so... Lonely here. With a slow breath, he turned to focus on his meal, choosing instead to tuck into it for the time being. Scoffing down freshly made mash would be the closest thing to heaven he could achieve for the next while. 

 

\--------- 

 

Summer break had finally drawn to a close after John had been in that home for a week, and today he stood in front of a mirror and observed himself. He hadn't remembered the last time he needed to wear a uniform to attend classes, and he almost felt a bit silly in it. Pulling at the blue and white striped tie that was just a bit too tight, he took a slow breath and a small step back. There was no use in fretting over the way he looked now. Everyone would be dressed the same as himself, and he would look fine. Just blend in. Don't bring unwanted attention to yourself. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. 

He grabbed his rucksack and tossed it over his shoulder before quickly leaving his room and nearly stumbling down those grand steps. John tumbled through the front doors that had been opened by a house servant, and he could see Sherlock stepping into a black town car. It was simple, sleek and the windows had a dangerously dark tint to them. But given the plates the vehicle had, no traffic enforcement would attempt to stop them for it. 

He got into the car beside Sherlock who was quite busy fiddling about with his mobile at the moment. Just who was he talking to right now? Then again, who said he was texting anyone? John was curious, sure, but he wasn't nosy. After getting his seat belt on despite Sherlock not bothering with it, he watched as the driver got in and began the journey to the school they were both enrolled in. 

The ride would take about twenty minutes. Twenty long, silent, uncomfortable minutes. John cleared his throat and glanced over to Sherlock who did not so much as pause to recognise that the blonde beside him might want his attention, only looking up John uttered a simple, “Good morning”. 

Mistrusting icy eyes glanced over at John and Sherlock gave him a momentary glance before apparently dismissing him and returning to whatever it was he appeared to be doing on his mobile. No, that wasn't at all what John wanted, but when he opened his mouth to talk, Sherlock was looking at him again. 

“Don't bother. I have no interest in conversing with you. You have nothing of interest to say, despite what you may think. Your fear of the upcoming semester is not something I care to listen to, nor do I want to bother with hearing about anything else – Whether you're curious of what your brother is doing, what sort of classes you are enrolled in, or what the school grounds are like.” Sherlock dismissed, though paused briefly when he realised that John was staring at him. He didn't bother responding to that though, assuming that the blonde would merely disregard him for being callous, but that didn't seem to be the case. 

“I-I'm sorry? How could you have... Possibly guessed that?” John breathed out, brows furrowed as he gave Sherlock quite the baffled look which was met with an exasperated sigh. “Obvious.” Sherlock muttered out though attempted to go back to his mobile, only to find that the blonde teen had leaned in closer to him. “Again, do it again.” John urged almost eagerly, wondering what else Sherlock could figure out from him. 

This was a strange interaction, and one that Sherlock had not anticipated. John was the jock type. He preferred to exhaust himself physically, spent little time studying, and was trying to get himself shipped out to military to most likely off-put Uni for the moment. But upon looking closer at the boy he'd solemnly ignored the last week, he knew that all of that wasn't quite true. 

“I can tell that you play sports – Rugby namely, going by your build. I'd say you played Scrum-half. I know you're here due to a tragic accident with your mother, but not your father, and that your mobile used to belong to your alcoholic brother. You're nervous about school as you have not attended school since primary, but your admittance to whatever league you were in attempted to support the growth of your social skills. Dull, really.” He rambled out, still toying with his phone though he did glance over at John, expecting some sort of anger. That's what usually happened, after all. 

What Sherlock saw instead was quite surprising. With a tinge of unease and mild anger at having his mother brought into this, there was also a look of wonder and astonishment. “You couldn't have possibly guessed all of that.” John said though Sherlock quickly raised his chin at the claim, shifting to press his elbow against the door and rest his cheek in his palm. That was a strange reaction he'd received. Not one he often got... 

“I didn't guess. I deduced. It's all there, everyone is just too stupid to see it.” He complained idly though that brought a bit of a laugh from John. What a strange sound to touch the younger boy's ears. He hadn't expected anything of the sort like this to happen. If anything, given John's lack of social encounters and aggressive Rugby position, he'd expected a punch in the face. Whatever was happening, he didn't know if he liked it or not. But... It did feel nice to have someone pleased with him, just this once. 

“That was.. Amazing. You've got to tell me how to do that one of these days.” John said with a grin that seemed to stretch ear to ear. It was friendly – Suspiciously so. Perhaps John was just trying to be kind for the sake of the situation? “That's not what they usually say.” He muttered lowly to himself. Naturally, it was something a normal person would not be able to make out, but John seemed to hear it with no issue. He responded by asking, “What did they usually say?” 

Slowly, Sherlock focused his eyes on John, drinking in that wonder and curiosity. This would surely be the first and last time he saw it upon John when it was focused on him. “Piss off.” Sherlock offered, which just made John laugh again.

What a strange lad.


	2. A Rough Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does the first day of school have to be so... Eventful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Still looking for a beta. If you find any errors (Spelling, grammatical, etc.) please let me know! <3

The rest of the ride to the academy was quiet, as John found that Sherlock was not interested in making idle chit chat after his sudden revelation of the boy’s intelligence. He tried to ask what Sherlock was even doing on his mobile, but was once more met with silence. Fine, he could accept that. Not everyone was a morning person, and considering this was the most he’d heard out of Sherlock so far, he wouldn’t complain.

The car pulled up to a grand building that was one of three. There was on building that housed studies for Math and Science, another building for English, History and Language, then another building that house the miscellaneous topics such as Physical Education, Design Technology, Cooking, etc. There was a final building towards the back that was designed to take on all of the administrative roles such as Admissions, staffing, and the sort. 

John stepped out of the vehicle slowly, marveling at the sight before himself. It was insane to think that he was going to be finishing up school here when he’d spent the last few years at home. Occasionally he’d have a tutor come into the house to show him things that they could not figure out on their own, but never anything like this. He almost felt like he was in Uni already. 

It was then that John noticed Sherlock was already wandering away, leaving him alone. He was quick to follow the boy as he didn’t want to be left alone just yet considering the fact that he had no knowledge about the campus. Where was he supposed to go? What buildings had what? He had the schedule that was designed for him in his rucksack, but what good would that do without a map? 

It took Sherlock a moment, but once he understood that John was following along like a pup, he paused in his steps and gave him a dry look. “Do not associate with me. There are maps around campus, and you are free to inquire about the location of anything you may need when approaching an educator.” He said flatly, not wanting to deal with the inane questions that would certainly bea coming his way if he allowed this behaviour to continue. John had opened his mouth, though quickly closed it when the other glared at him. “No – Don’t.” Sherlock demanded simply before beginning to walk away again.

A slightly stunned and mildly offended John was left alone on the sidewalk, a hard frown pulling at his lips as he stood alone in a sea of students. Taking an uneasy breath, he knew he needed to remain calm if he didn’t want to have any sour… Accidents on campus. Christ help him if he ever felt the shift come here. 

He began to walk in the direction that Sherlock had originally been headed, thinking about his best bet. If he could find the Math building, he’d be best off. After all, that was his first class. But with obscure names, how did he know which building it was in the end? He paused at a bench and took a seat, beginning to rifle through his things to find that damned schedule when he suddenly heard someone shouting his name. Did Sherlock change his mind? No, that didn’t sound like him.

Upon lifting his head, he spotted a familiar face that he didn’t expect to see anywhere near here. “Greg?” He asked with a baffled tone, his Rugby mate quickly jogging over to him with a rather large grin. “Yeah, mate. Didn’t think I’d see you here – In uniform no less. I thought you were home schooled.” He said and as soon as John had stood up, he’d given him a friendly hug. 

“I was, yeah. Something happened though, so now I’m here. I’m staying with a bloke named Sherlock for the time being.” He explained with a nod though the look Gregory gave him was anything but calming. “He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” Greg asked and quickly began to pat John down as if expecting something to all off or break. 

John made a bit of a face to the assumption, unable to help but laugh as Greg squished his palms to his cheeks, forcing his face to look a bit silly. “Why would he do anything to me?” John defended as he grabbed his friends’ wrists, tossing them away gently. “In fact, he doesn’t even like talking to me. Been at his house a week and only said a few things to him – Most of which were in the car today.” John explained which seemed to be a satisfactory answer for the other. 

“He’s a bit odd, that one. Heard a few things about him, but I never bothered taking a look for myself. Nothing good, though.” Greg said though now snatched John’s schedule from his hand so that he could figure out where the blonde boy was headed. 

“What sort of things..?” John asked curiously as his friend made a small ‘Aha’ noise as he recognized some classes they appeared to share. That was quite a relief, to be honest. It took Greg a moment to actually respond, holding out the schedule for John to take back, which he promptly did. 

“Well, I mean… Check his arm for one.” Gregory said and tapped the side of his nose, hinting as to something that was a bit darker than John would’ve imagined for Sherlock. “And he experiments on things. People have talked about how he’s had hands shipped into the science department to test with after hours. Ears, too. He’s set the building on fire at least three times, actually.” Gregory said as he tapped his chin. 

John watched with an uneasy expression as Gregory gestured everything to emphasize his words, unsure as to what to believe. Sherlock set the building on fire? And what was he even checking his arm for? This quiet, off-Standish boy couldn’t possibly be the cause of so many problems, could he? “Right…” John said and cleared his throat before waving his schedule a bit. “Can you help me out at least?” He asked and got a dry albeit playful look from Gregory. Of course the bloke would help.

\----------------

The day went by mostly uneventfully. John was asked who he was and where he came from by a few curious students who had never seen him before. He answered truthfully (“I was home schooled, I like science, I play Rugby”, etc.) but didn’t specify as to why he was home schooled, nor did he state that he was living with Sherlock. That was Greg’s suggestion, and he didn’t want to be a bother to the boy if it would somehow negatively impact him. 

Of course, John was unaware that such a thing was the least of Sherlock’s problems. As the day came to a close and students began to head home as extracurricular activities hadn’t started yet, he found something going on towards the back of the school. Students were giggling, running about and shouting about how “the freak” was going to have to learn his place for the beginning of the year. 

What John saw was sickening. 

A group of boys were in the center of the growing crowd, some of which looked a bit roughed up, but well off otherwise. One of them had Sherlock in a tight hold, keeping his arms behind his back whilst another was taking broad swings to his stomach. This was fun to people? No one thought to stop it? He looked around, hoping to find anyone who was sane in this crowd of students. What was wrong with them all? 

It was now that Greg had popped up, grimacing faintly as he saw the look on John’s face. “He’s got a mouth on him, ain’t many who like it.” Gregory explained weakly and almost looked guilty at the angry look upon John’s features. “That’s no reason for this.” He spat and quickly began to push his way through the crowd, getting yelled at by some students who were recording, and others cheering him on for wanting to join in. 

When John got to the center, a few heads turned to look at him. One of the students that decided to ‘play’ with Sherlock demanded to know just who he was and what he thought he was doing. Sherlock’s expression was empty, apparently knowing better than to give in and let these students know just how much pain he was in. Once those blue eyes landed upon John, he quickly looked away. Was he ashamed? Embarrassed? Angry? Surely John was here to just join in. He was another wolf in the pack, after all. He didn’t seem to be the type to lead.

It seemed that John Watson was full of surprises today for Sherlock, because after exchanging a few choice words, there was a sudden gasp that resonated through the crowd. Upon looking back, Sherlock saw that John’s fist had quite heavily collided with the boy’s jaw, actually knocking him off of his feet with the unknown strength that John hid away.

Normally, he would fight fair in this sort of setting. He’d use normal, understandable strength. But these blokes were messing with Sherlock who was now part of his motley pack. Sherlock was not yet someone he knew, nor was he someone he felt he could even trust. But there was a small possessive sense there, as he did live with Sherlock. Sherlock was his, at least, that was what his wolf suggested. But that was a thought for another time. 

Instead, he watched as two other blokes tried to grab at him to lead him to the same fate as Sherlock, but the teen quickly ducked and side-stepped, grabbing one of the bloke’s arms and throwing him to the ground. He caught a punch from the other, and twisted his hand which caused the teen to cry out in sudden pain, before John lurched forward and swung at the boy’s stomach. The teen appeared to have the wind knocked out of him as he stumbled and fell back, not sure if he should his stomach or his aching wrist. Sprained. 

And then there was one – This was the one who was holding Sherlock. With brown hair and an ugly nose, he looked a bit more skittish as the others because when John approached, he threw Sherlock to the ground and put his hands up in defense, not wanting to end up the same as his companions. 

John nodded to the teen who quickly backed up into the crowd and now set his sights on Sherlock who was still trying to get himself up. He had had the wind knocked out of him a moment ago and was still regaining his composure. He had a few cuts on that otherwise perfect face, his clothes were dirtied and he surely had a few spots that would bloom into bruises upon him in multiple places. 

The blonde reached down and gently pulled Sherlock up, slinging the boy’s arm around his shoulders. He then gave him a small, fond little smile, squeezing him gently. “I’ve got you.” He said quietly, though spotted Greg quickly grabbing Sherlock’s other arm to help him up. It was now that some of the students began to disperse, some confused and others excited by the sudden turn in events. No one stood up for Sherlock because they knew better. This was going to be interesting. 

Sherlock detested this whole spectacle. He had no choice but to go along, leaning his weight onto John as opposed to the young man he recognized at Gregory Lestrade. Part of the Rugby team, average test scores and a drinker. So why was he suddenly coming out to help? 

Once they broke through the group and wandered towards a car that was waiting, John threw Greg a friendly, relieved smile. “Thanks.” He said and the older boy nodded. “ ‘Course. Not gunna let you do that alone. You’re gunna get a lot of shite for that stunt.” He warned though John rolled his eyes. “So what? No one should be treating anyone like this.” He pointed out and squeezed Sherlock gently. “When we get home, I’ll take a look at you.” John suggested though was met with an icy gaze.

“That won’t be necessary. I was able to handle myself quite well without your interruption.” Sherlock uttered though his voice was weak and a tad strained. John and Greg exchanged a brief glance, though another laugh slipped from John as he rested his head against Sherlock a bit. “Sure you did. But hey, I was bored and didn’t feel like waiting for you. Can’t let you have all of the fun.” John said as opposed to fighting with Sherlock about where he stood.

Sherlock eyed him slowly, not too sure how to take the comment. It sounded sarcastic, but the look upon John’s features were genuine. He did not look angry, put out, or even like he was taunting Sherlock for being in that situation. So what was he trying to gain from all of this? 

Once they approached the car, John and Greg helped Sherlock inside, the driver silent about the sight before himself. John thanked his friend for the help and the two exchanged a brief half-hug before he slid into the car as well. Once the door was shut and Greg waved them off, John turned to look at Sherlock. He brought a hand up to the boy’s face, only to have Sherlock swat his hand away. 

“I don’t need your help.” Sherlock grumbled as he turned his head away, only to find John cupping his chin and forcing him to peer back. “No, you don’t need it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. Besides, this will be fun. I want to be a doctor at the end of everything. Let me take a look at you when we get home.” He said and leaned a little closer to the cuts Sherlock had. Nothing too bad, most likely caused by knuckles against that taut, pale face. 

Sherlock was not too sure what to think to that, drinking in the sight of the boy before him. No matter what way he tackled John, all he could read was, “Honest”. Perhaps… He would let John play doctor, just this once.


	3. The Good Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it nice when there's a doctor around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you to [SwedishNerd](/users/SwedishNerd) for Beta'ing this chapter. I've got up to 6 written already, so it's just a matter of getting it out to you guys :) Comments and Kudos adored. Always looking for input~

Although Sherlock wouldn't admit it, John appeared to have quite an excellent bedside manner, even if he was still in Secondary.

Once they arrived home, John had ushered Sherlock off to his room, ignoring anyone who asked if Sherlock was alright or given them a weird look. He wanted to get Sherlock patched up so that no one at dinner would really pay much mind to him. Then again, it wasn't as if plasters would magically hide the fact he'd been beaten up. 

After arriving at Sherlock's room, the younger of the two hesitated briefly before allowing John inside. This was the first time that the blonde had a chance to see Sherlock's room, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Large was the obvious choice to describe it, as all the rooms appeared to be. With a high ceiling and large book shelves that lined the walls, there seemed to be plenty of room to neatly hold all of Sherlock's things. It was a pity that he didn't bother with organisation. 

John found the room an absolute mess with clutter. In one area, by the bay window, there was a music stand with sheets of paper tossed about as if it were done in a fit of rage. A violin hung from the edge of the stand, and the bow laid across the lip. There were books tossed about carelessly, journals stacked up here and there, and clothing strewn about as though he couldn't be bothered to pick up after himself. 

Above it all, there were a few display cases with insects inside and on the same bookshelf were quite a few strange things: diagrams of the human body, a collection of scientific glassware - such as beakers and test tubes, what appeared to be a lock picking kit, and, among other things, a skull. A real, authentic, human skull. He'd seen a few dummies in school and from the way it gleamed in the dim light of the room, well, there was no way something like that had been manufactured by a company. 

He cleared his throat uneasily but found Sherlock pulling a first-aid kit out from a pirate's chest at the foot of his bed (Why did he have a personal kit?) and set it upon the sheets. Once he'd opened the metal casing, he reached for the buttons of his blazer and began to shrug himself out of the heavy layer, tossing it onto the bedding and began undoing his shirt. 

John almost stopped him, but knew that it would be for the better. He wanted to see if Sherlock was going to be sore for a few days, and make sure there were no cuts that he couldn't see. It was nice to see that Sherlock wasn't going to fight him, about this at least. After he'd fallen silent in the car, John wasn't too sure how this bit would go. 

Soon enough, the shirt was removed and tossed aside with his blazer, revealing the slender young man hidden beneath. His skin was as pale as snow, and he was quite lithe – Certainly a good runner given those legs of his. But what concerned John was how thin he was. He'd have to try and get Sherlock to eat when he came down to the designated meals. He had an inkling that the younger male had skipped lunch at school as well. 

Sherlock chose to sit on the edge of the bed then, giving John a calculated look that made the boy's skin crawl. It was as if he had suddenly been put on display for all to see, and it was rather unnerving. He cleared his throat and wandered over, carefully making his way through the (extensive) first aid kit until he came out victorious with a few cotton balls and a bottle of alcohol. 

Those piercing blue eyes didn't falter as he watched John twist the lid off of the container and pour some of the sharp solution onto the cotton, being sure not to over-saturate it, before turning back to Sherlock once he'd closed the bottle up again. “Alright, tilt your head up.” John said, his voice a bit more gentle than it had been previously as he reached out and placed his pinky finger against the underside of the teen's chin to guide him. 

As soon as John pressed the cotton to the first two cuts, there was a small hiss from Sherlock who tried to jerk away, though the older male wouldn't allow it. Instead, he followed with the cotton ball, leaning a bit closer to Sherlock. “Hold still. It's not that bad.” John huffed, as he swiped the damp puff of white over another cut. The scent of the alcohol was sharp to his nose, to the point where it burned, but he preferred that to some of the other scents in the room. His eyes floated over to the strange bookshelf, eyeing some of the chemical jars briefly before looking back to Sherlock. 

“What do you even do with that stuff?” John asked, as he twisted the ball a bit to get to a clean surface before touching over another cut, earning another soft hiss from the pretty-faced youth. Sherlock was silent for another moment and John believed his question had fallen upon deaf ears until there was a reluctant reply, “I am a scientist. I require that for my work.” He muttered offhand, as if were obvious. 

There was a small sound of recognition that came from the back of John's throat in regards to the comment which earned a raised eyebrow from Sherlock. “Greg said something about that before. Have you really set the school on fire five times?” He asked, exaggerating the number for effect. That was met with a huff, it almost looked as if the other were pouting. 

“It was three times, thank you very much. And you looked to be quite close with that student.” He pointed out, quickly beginning to piece the answer to his unasked question together. He opened his mouth to give his input (they were both Rugby players. Same league or at least rivals at some point), but found John had answered for him, “We were on the same team – Rugby I mean. It was during the summer months. I was really surprised to see him. I didn't think I'd ever end up at the same school as him.” The blonde pointed out and leaned back, looking Sherlock over.

The taller of the two rolled his eyes as though indicating that John's response was obvious, though John didn't seem to pay much mind to that. Instead, he chose to pick up a plaster that was large enough to cover two of the cuts and paste it just under his eye to keep everything clean, reaching for another one. “Does this happen often then?” John finally asked. 

The silence that Sherlock gave was an obvious 'yes', and a frown touched over John's lips. His tongue swept out over his lower lip as he quickly thought of a follow-up, finishing with the second plaster. “Right, well, I'll see to it that it stops. If something happens you’ll need to-” John started, though he was cut off by Sherlock. 

“You do not need to play the hero, John. I have survived without you, and will continue to do so without your interference.” He said sternly, quickly putting up a hand as if to stop John's train of thought. He didn't need this boy getting caught up in things that had nothing to do with him. He didn't need John butting into his social situations and trying to play the hero. They were home now, after all. Who was he trying to impress? 

The older of the two didn't seem to share the same sentiment and he reached down to press his thumb into one of Sherlock's larger bruises, watching him recoil slightly as he glared at John. “See that? I do need to help you. It's not a matter of playing hero, it's a matter of helping a friend.” He said, though the comment was quickly met with a rather dry expression. 

“I don't have friends.” Sherlock said pointedly, almost as if he were turning his nose up at John. This didn't seem to deter the blonde who merely continued to gently prod at his sides, wanting to be sure that there was nothing he was missing. He wasn't an expert, but he at least paid enough mind in biology to remember where things were supposed to be located. 

“Well, there's always a time for change.” John tutted softly and his briefly sour expression smoothed out once more. “I'm not going to let people push you around just because they're arseholes. If you're going to get punched in the face, you need to at least earn it proper. If that's the case, I'll let you enjoy your beating.” John lamented, though he was teasing. Even if that was the situation at hand, he would still defend Sherlock. 

Sherlock grimaced at hearing John's supposed argument, shaking his head. Once the blonde moved away, apparently pleased with his work, Sherlock let out a soft breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He stood up then and stretched, headed over to a dresser and began rifling through it. “You have a curious knack for being in that situation.” He said pointedly as he pulled out a loose, old t-shirt. It looked as if it had seen far better days and was better off with the rest of the rubbish to be honest. 

“My father was in the military. Between deployments, he'd show me how to defend myself.” John pointed out, though Sherlock scrunched his nose up at that.”Then why was it that the majority of that was offensive?” He countered quickly, earning a bit of a look from John. 

It wasn't as if the blonde could point out that he'd let instinct take over. It would be quite a strange claim, and one that the intelligent boy may attempt to over-analyze. John had been lucky thus far with his shifting, glad his resolve was holding up. But the closer to the full moon it got, the more uncomfortable he began to grow in his own skin. 

“You weren't even looking at me.” John decided to say instead, waving his hand at Sherlock who turned to face John properly as he moved to pull on his shirt. It was then that the older teen recalled the first thing Greg had told him about Sherlock, his eyes moving to the bend of his arm. Though the marks were light and nearly invisible, with his increased vision, he could see a few tiny pinpricks that appeared to be healing over. More than a week, less than two. The realisation of that seemed to hit him like a wave, his resolve faltering briefly. What exactly did that mean? What was Sherlock using? And why? 

A small surge of irritation and protectiveness overcame the shorter teen though he kept quiet, merely pursing his lips and watching the way the shirt fell over Sherlock who then began fiddling with the button of his trousers after kicking off his shoes. He pulled off his pants, his boxer briefs had a bee on them, before pulling on a pair of pajama bottom and tying them up at his waist. Once that was done, he wandered to a chair that was turned to face the cold mantle, pulling a silky blue house robe off of it and shrugging it on. This was the first time John had seen Sherlock wearing something that didn't make him look like he'd just walked off of a fashion shoot. It was honestly strange. 

“I do not need to observe you to know exactly what it is you're thinking. You're obvious, John. An open book.” Sherlock stated simply enough, as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his robe. That comment made John laugh a bit, only to be given a harsh expression from Sherlock. “Then what am I thinking now, psychic Sherlock?” John asked. 

“Don't be foolish. Psychics are merely for show.” Sherlock dismissed quickly, waving his hand. As a youth of science, he wouldn't give into that foolish mysticism nonsense. Such a comment came at a relief to John, who would need that reassuring notion later on. It would mean that there was one less person to ever suspect the truth about him. “And you are most likely questioning whether or not I'm going to be eating at dinner tonight.” Sherlock tutted, having caught the teen's gaze when he was changing. Naughty John couldn't have been bothered to be polite and look away. 

The thought was a good idea to the blonde student who felt his brows raise faintly at the suggestion, though he shook his head. “Nah, not quite.” He mused. John couldn't correct Sherlock and tell him that he was wondering about those pinpricks upon his skin or the fact he'd begun to contemplate the full moon. Instead, he waved his hand lightly as if to dismiss Sherlock. “But that is a good idea. I don't really care if you plan on eating – You need it. So I'm going to make sure of that, as your doctor.” The teen teased and let a playful grin pull at his lips. 

The expression bewildered Sherlock briefly who eyed John thrice over, hands balling into weak fists in his pockets. He was never wrong. “I have no interest. It slows me down and is a waste of time.” He stated simply, though John wasn't having that. 

“I didn't ask.” He pointed out, feeling a yawn coming on, he stretched his arms above his head briefly, letting out the silly noise that came along with the act. “You're going to have to eat tonight. It'll help you to heal up faster.” John decided, now feeling it was time to leave Sherlock to his own devices. He began to walk backwards towards the door before spinning on his heels, hand pausing as he stopped to grab the handle. “I'm also guessing you don't want to make a big deal out of this at dinner. If they ask, I tripped when going down the stairs and you ended up coming down with me.” John suggested with another smile that he flashed at Sherlock before he slipped out of the room. 

Sherlock wasn't too sure what to make of such a statement. There must have been something that John wanted from him, but what? There was no other reason for him to be acting so uncomfortably kind. Slowly, the tall teen sauntered over to his bed and slid his hand beneath an area of the blanket that was folded over, pulling out the mobile that had 'Clara XXX' engraved on it, he’d nicked John's mobile when he was 'fixing Sherlock up'. 

It was time to begin performing research on John.


	4. An Investigation Gone Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigating on little sleep doesn't always provide the best results. In fact, it may leave you with more questions than answers in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thank you to [SwedishNerd](/users/SwedishNerd) for Beta'ing this chapter. Thanks to everyone who's left a comment or Kudos. :)

Dull. Obvious. Boring. 

These were the three words Sherlock could use to describe John as he had tried to get more information on him over the last few weeks. He'd taken the teen's phone on the first day of school and managed to get into it (Guessed the password 45 seconds in, quite a predictable 4-digit code) and found that there was nothing of interest. Aside from his brother Harry, Greg, whose number was added that day, and a few other blokes from what appeared to be his Rugby team, who were constantly asking about tedious things, he didn't appear to talk to many people.

From there, he chose to start rifling through John's things whenever he wasn't in his room. He'd found a box of what some would call 'memories' stashed away beneath his bed in a rather childish manner. It held photos that Sherlock assumed were of his family, only then cursing himself for mistaking Harry for a male. There were a few old knickknacks as well, though they meant nothing to him. So, once he finished with the box, he shoved the lid back on and pushed it back under the bed, trying to find something else to focus on. 

John had a boring set of hand-me-down's from his father, which would explain why all of his jumpers were over-sized. He had medical textbooks that were a bit outdated, though they looked worn out, indicating they'd been read thoroughly. It seemed that John was serious when he joked about wanting to become a doctor. 

There was a bookshelf that was relatively bare aside from some sports memorabilia, as well as a trophy awarded to his team for coming in first place of their tournament over the summer. And the summer before that. And the summer before that. It seemed that John had quite good luck when it came to Rugby. 

John also appeared to be in accelerated courses, no doubt due to him getting ahead of himself while being home-schooled. At least John wasn't a complete imbecile, but the vacant look he sometimes gave Sherlock was rather infuriating. The blonde had been trying to become Sherlock's 'companion' during his stay, but, at times, it was quite trying on the younger teen's patience. Constantly being goaded to eat or being bothered at random times during the day, it made it difficult to focus. The only time John didn't seem to interrupt was when he was playing the violin. He'd attempted to lay a decoy and put on a recording, but somehow the shorter male caught on quickly to the lie. 

Sherlock sat in John's room, frowning a bit as he glanced over to the digital clock. 12:42 AM and yet, John wasn't here. He had noticed that the back window was open and a light breeze had begun to blow in, but other than that, there were no signs of the teen anywhere. He'd already looked through the house trying to at least locate John, but aside from the house staff, no one was awake. 

So, he chose to wait. And wait. And wait... By the time 5 AM came around Sherlock had dozed on John's bed, the boredom consuming him and his lack of rest as of late catching up to him . He'd dozed while holding onto the bloke’s pillow, holding it close with his face buried into it. Because he was finally catching up on precious, necessary, sleep, he missed the sight of the sunrise that came shortly thereafter. He also missed the following image of a dirty blonde boy scrambling up the scaffolding outside of his window and falling into the bedroom. 

John had frozen when he saw Sherlock, not only in his room, but asleep in his bed, panic swelling in his chest until registering that the other was quite out of it. A heavy breath of relief escaped him before he tiptoed into his bathroom, using the mirror to pick twigs and leaves out of his hair, grimacing at the sight of blood that touched at his skin. He'd learned a little over a year ago not to be concerned about the sight of the red essence, as it often meant he had merely gotten a bit hungry. Never had he attacked a human when in that state and, more times than not, he was relatively conscious of his surroundings. 

The thing was, John and his canine side were the same entity; they were two sides of the same coin. John could make rational decisions with ease while relying on the instincts of his wolf in a sticky situation. It was why he was great as Scrum-half and pretty good when getting into a fight. Which, unfortunately, was something he'd gotten himself into a few times after the initial confrontation on that first day of school. Luckily, with John around, it seemed fewer people were causing Sherlock grief. At least, that's what he hoped was happening. 

Taking these thoughts in mind, he stepped into the shower to wash away any mud or dirt that may have been stuck to him, along with the blood. His clothing from the day was still clean, though the fresh crease marks on it would indicate it had recently been folded. John knew better than to shift with his clothing on, as it would tear to shreds. He envied werewolves depicted in films who could just shift with them on and then have them return, intact, after regaining their human form. Life was never that simple... 

His shower didn't last all that long as a wave of exhaustion swept over him, causing him to stagger out of the shower. He dried off sloppily and wandered into the bedroom. After shutting the window and pulling the blinds closed, he gave the door a long, hard stare before teetering over and flipping the lock. As kind as Mrs. Hudson was he didn't quite want her storming in here, as she normally did, to try and get him up. He had every intention of sleeping the day away. 

Once he had assured his sense of peace, he turned back to the bed and frowned a bit. Sherlock was a messy sleeper. During the time he'd showered, Sherlock had rolled onto his back and more or less thrown himself across the bedding. Those long, pale limbs were spread out and his clothing was disheveled. He actually looked innocent when he slept which made something swell in the wolf's chest, though he disregarded it for now. Instead, he needed to focus on sleeping. 

The teen carefully crawled onto the bedding as he attempted to formulate the best possible way of moving Sherlock, but it seemed his patience had run out. Instead of kicking Sherlock out or forcing him over, he decided to do the next best thing – lay with him. John slipped under the sheets and stretched out on his belly, using the teen's arm as a pillow: he’d slid his own arms beneath it and curled them around it, tucking his chin over it.

The motion caused Sherlock to stir, who only ended up foregoing John's pillow and, tossing it away, rolled closer to the blonde, latching onto him gently. The smaller male made a mental note that Sherlock was apparently the clingy type, but he was far too tired to mind. Choosing instead, to relish in the borrowed warmth that came with the close contact. A soft growl of sorts reverberating from the back of his throat, it was his own special type of sound that could be compared to a cat's purr. 

Now content, fed, safe and warm, John easily found sleep.

\----- 

While the two boys slept soundly, a particular nanny-turned-house-help had tried to make her usual rounds. It was about 8 AM on Saturday and when she had found Sherlock's room empty, she grew concerned. That is, until, she'd found John's door was locked. Confusion graced the woman's features and she let out a small noise of complaint as she reached for a set of keys on her hip. She wanted to get John up to help her locate Sherlock, afraid that he'd slipped out in the night without anyone realising it. 

As she located the key to the room (all of the bedrooms had a master key due to a scare Sherlock gave a year or so back), Mycroft just so happened to be walking by. As he was making his way down to the kitchen, to have some tea and scones for breakfast before attending meetings with his father for the day, he paused to watch as the woman finally pushed the door open, only to hear her gasp and giggle a bit. 

Curious, he peered into the room, lips pressing into a hard line at the sight in front of him: John had turned in his sleep and was cradling Sherlock against him, the taller boy clinging to the blonde, as if his life depended on it, with his head tucked beneath the others chin. What was upsetting to him was how serene Sherlock looked when having someone to hold onto like that. Attachments were only going to harm him in the end. Mrs. Hudson, however, had decided that this was an acceptable reason to have the door locked, relieved that Sherlock hadn't up and disappeared into the night. 

Sighing softly, the elder Holmes brother wandered past, beginning to think of ways to approach the subject with his baby brother. Mrs. Hudson, in the mean time, had gone ahead and shut the door, deciding it would be best to let the two boys sleep, hoping that they'd been decent through the night. To think, there was someone who could finally warm up to Sherlock and get him out of his shell (and his pants, apparently), if only she knew how far-fetched the whole scenario in her head truly was. 

\--- 

Sherlock had slept until about 3 PM, waking with a soft groan as he tried to roll over, the teen attempted to recall what had happened and where he was. Sleeping always made his mind foggy and he felt terribly groggy, but the sensation of strong hands against his back quickly brought him back to reality. 

Icy orbs blinked open and the first thing Sherlock saw was a mess of white fabric, that of John's night shirt. Slowly, he tilted his head back to look at the sleeping teen, who appeared to be having quite a lovely dream given the serene look upon his features. 

Wait, what? 

A bit of colour flashed upon Sherlock's cheeks as he tried to get away again, only to have John complain and pull the taller teen closer to him, muttering softly into those wild curls. Once Sherlock fell still, John calmed down and drifted back into a state of comfort. 

What time had John gotten home? How had they ended up like this? What time was it now? How did Sherlock allow this to happen in the first place? 

Sherlock moved his head back trying to glance at the clock and was able to get a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Dread overtook him as he realised just how late it truly was. He wondered why God had cursed him (despite there obviously not being one), he’d planned on working on some experiments today, not waste the day away by sleeping frivolously and in John's bed, no less.

Again, the taller teen attempted to free himself from the blonde baggage, but John decided to stop him by twisting them around and rolling atop the taller male. Their positions shifted and John was now laying on top of Sherlock, arms gently wrapped around his neck and face buried against his soft, pale skin. He was more or less straddling the younger teen, which really didn't do much good considering how thin both of their pajamas were. Was John even wearing pants today..? The thought caused a tinge of red to darken Sherlock's cheeks, who let out a frustrated groan, his breath hitching at the sudden and strange sensation of teeth grazing his throat, a knot forming in his stomach. 

“Shh...” John whispered against the man's neck despite still being asleep, grinning softly as he finally settled in again. It didn't appear that John was going to wake up any time soon at this rate. 

With the awkward way Sherlock's body was beginning to react, and the fact that willing himself to think of other things didn't really work as John continued to breathe over the untouched skin of his throat, perhaps that was the best situation to be in. He didn't really want to explain why he had a hard-on due to John’s incessant sleeping habits…


	5. Boys will be Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games, right?

A week had passed since that strange night and Sherlock was still trying to work out where John could have gone. After going through his mobile, once he'd freed himself from the awkward encounter, he had noted that there was no mention of a meet up. There was also the fact that, without a car, John would have a hard time getting around due to how far from the city they lived. Had he just gone for a midnight stroll and fallen asleep? But why would he have done that without taking his coat, which Sherlock noticed hanging near the door when he was in the room prior to John’s return?

After that night, Mrs. Hudson kept giving the two boys a certain look whenever they spoke and at some point his brother had attempted to corner him into a conversation. A conversation that their father had, thankfully, interrupted by calling Mycroft away for work. John appeared to have the same luck as Sherlock this time around. That following Friday, after staying in town with Greg for a bit, he got home late and was quickly caught on the way to his room. “John, could I have a moment?” Mycroft inquired from the top of the stairs, peering down cooly. What he didn't realise was that Gregory was lagging behind John, stopping to drink in the sight of the building. Mrs. Holmes had allowed John to have a friend stay the night since she’d noted how well Sherlock was doing now, with John in the home, and wanted to conduct an experiment of her own. 

When the oldest male spotted Gregory though, John could've sworn he was going crazy. Normally he attempted to ignore the excessive sounds he could hear, whether it was a fork scraping against a dish a few rooms over, or the scent of Sherlock burning something in his room. But this time, it was the sound of a certain Holmes' heart beginning to race and the scent of something akin to adrenaline oozing from every pore. But what could've caused that..? 

“Oi! Don’t just stand there, you daft git. Introduce us.” Gregory huffed and clapped John on the back, laughing as the smaller teen stumbled forward. John huffed a little and looked back to Mycroft who appeared to be regaining composure, clearing his throat. “Ah, Mycroft, this is my friend Greg.” He introduced, gesturing to the appropriate person as he spoke their names. 

Greg gave a little wink to Mycroft and a light wave of the hand. “ 'Ello mate. Takin' good care of John, yeah?” he asked, to which the eldest male merely nodded slightly, clearing his throat. “Yes, it would seem so. I suppose I shall let you two go along with your business.” He stated, deciding that his important conversation with John would best be had when his companion wasn't around to be a... distraction. 

“It's fine. We're all going to watch a movie later. Well, I haven't told Sherlock yet, but he's gunna watch it too. You should join us, if you have the time. It's on the tele and starts at 8.” John offered with a smile, only to get a slow nod from the older Holmes brother who then turned to walk towards the right hallway, the opposite of where John and Gregory would be going. “Bit of a tight-arse, eh?” the older student questioned, nudging John a bit. The blonde gave a light laugh. “You get used to it.” he said and continued to lead him along. 

As they neared John's room, a familiar black-haired boy could be seen flinging John's bedroom door open, looking quite frustrated. “John, where have yo-” he started. He was planning on asking (or rather, tricking) John to becoming a small test subject. Nothing dangerous, merely a test of taste. Of course, he was a bit caught off-guard by the sight of the stranger who was wandering about his house, meanwhile he'd already changed into his comfortable clothing. 

“Oi, what are you doing in my room?” John complained and side-stepped around Sherlock to go and inspect. Of course he knew that Sherlock often paraded around his room because he could smell the sweet, albeit sterile, scent that was Sherlock Holmes each time he did, but to blatantly storm out and start accusing him of something was a bit much. 

“That's... none of your concern.” Sherlock said and waved John off weakly, moving to tighten his robe. He felt exposed, there was someone he didn't particularly care for in his space, after all. There was a reason he didn't leave his room that first week when John had arrived... 

Gregory gave a strange glance between the two, (was this normal for them?), and let out quite a laugh as he moved to follow John. Sherlock, not taking kindly to this as he thought Greg was laughing at him, felt his lips twist into that of a scowl and he contemplated whether to just leave them be and sulk in his room, or to follow them and make sure Greg knew he was unwanted. 

Deciding to go with the second option, Sherlock twisted around in a flurry and stormed off to John's room where Greg was looking around with the same sense of wonder that the blonde had had the first few days he was here. “You get used to it.” he said with a light shrug, which was promptly followed by a light laugh as he turned his gaze at the obviously-brooding Sherlock who was leaning against his doorframe. 

“And who suggested you stay the night?” Sherlock grimaced as he spotted Greg's overnight bag. The supposed alcoholic glanced down at his bag and then over to John, ready to defend himself until he saw how calm John was about it. Was this normal then, for Sherlock? Should he not feel offended? “I did. Your mum suggested it.” John pointed out and began to shrug off his blazer, untucking his shirt and lazily slipping a hand beneath to scratch his belly idly. 

“She had no right.” Sherlock huffed out, frowning in disapproval as he looked to the supposed stranger. “Now Sherlock, be nice. Greg's a friend, and he did help you, remember.” The blonde chided, hoping Sherlock would remember the incident on the first day of school. “Funny, I don't recall.” The stubborn teen said simply, chin raising as if he were trying to be a prat on purpose. 

“Of course not.” John said and raised a brow before waving his hand lightly. “We're watching a film tonight, at 8. You have to watch it with us. I want to see if you can figure out this one's ending in half an hour.” The blonde demanded with a small sense of excitement. It was interesting to see what endings Sherlock could come up with when he did coax the youth to watch something with him. He'd found that the more time he spent with Sherlock, the more the teen was willing to do things with him, even if it was due to bargaining. John had to spend 3 hours pretending to be a corpse the other day as Sherlock argued the legitimacy of a murder case he'd been reading up on. But in the end, it was well worth it.

John seemed to sense Sherlock's hesitation, and quickly caught him before he could say no. “You can have me for two hours.” John offered, to which the tallest male quickly became thoughtful. 

“I'm sorry?” Greg asked quickly, beginning to think the absolute wrong thing of such a statement. It took John a minute to realise what the offer translated to for his friend and his cheeks flushed up, the teen clearing his throat. “No, not like that. Sherlock likes to work out mysteries. So he has me pretend to-” John started, though he was quickly distracted by Sherlock snapping at him. 

“Fine, John. And do shut up.” The youth grimaced before he turned to leave with a bit of a flourish. Even in his own home, it seemed he felt the need to show off. John and Greg exchanged a look, only for the blonde to shove his companion a bit. “Not like that.” he defended again, cheeks puffing out as he pouted a bit. 

\----- 

The rest of the evening went by without any relative issues. He could hear the footsteps that belonged to both Mycroft and Sherlock approach he and Greg more than once, yet they never came into the room they were in. It was almost as if they were just... listening. God, the Holmes' were so nosy. And if it wasn't for John's sensitive hearing, he never would've heard them lurking. 

It was now 7:50. 

Greg and John had two large bowls of popcorn and a few bottled sodas to go about for themselves and the silent duo whenever ( if ever) they decided to show themselves. But, as John got the large living room situated for a proper movie viewing, he found that Greg had tried to trip him for fun. 

If asked, John would explain that he couldn't recall what really happened next, but by 7:55, the two boys were wrestling on the floor, their shirts lost in the commotion. Better to take them off then rip them, after all. 

With their shirts discarded by the couch, John currently had Gregory atop him, straddling him as he was pinned on his belly with his arms stuck behind his back. “Call it!” Greg demanded with a shit-eating grin upon his lips. 

One, two… and three! John had used his own weight to twist himself by rocking them both, Greg letting out a small shout as their roles were suddenly reversed and John was on top of him, pinning his arms to the floor on either side of the teen's head. “That's your job.” The blonde decreed, beaming as his friend shouted from beneath him. 

Gregory kicked his legs up to roll John off of him and he was quick to oblige, happy with keeping the fight going. He didn't have packmates to play with like this and he didn't often get to see a friend that would do this with him. Hell, Rugby hadn't even started up yet. That wouldn't get another go until about February, when training began. So just for now, he was going to thoroughly enjoy exhausting himself, hopefully. The wolf in him was pleased to be doing something a bit more physical as well. 

John and Greg had a bit of a stand-off before they suddenly went at one another, grabbing at each other and trying to throw each other down again. It was a game of strength, and one John would always win, though he liked to let the older teen think he was doing well for himself. 

While the two were focused on one another, it seemed neither of them noticed the Holmes brothers making their way reluctantly into the sitting area. They initially passed a few snide remarks between one another, but stopped at the frightening sight of the two fighting. They initially wished to cease the disruptive behaviour before something broke. 

Of course, it took them only a moment to deduce that the two were playing, if John's laughter was anything to go by. “How brutish.” Sherlock remarked, frowning and crossing his arms though he couldn't tear his eyes away from John. Though he'd stripped before the blonde before, John had yet to do so for him. And for whatever reason, it was fascinating to observe him. 

He finally got to see those muscles that John kept hidden beneath his baggy clothing and he felt a sudden urge to begin running his finger over the happy trail that dipped into his pants, which were poking out of his trousers a bit. 

As John was suddenly twisted over and onto his back, his icy eyes landed upon something he had not thought would exist upon the teen and it thrilled him to bits. John's left shoulder was marred rather terribly, a scar that looked old and new all at once, as if perpetually healing. It was smaller on his front and larger in the back, indicating an exit wound or, possibly, something had torn at him. From the center of the injury, soft marks of red spidered out until they ceased to exist. What could have done that? Judging by the wound, it was more than a year ago, yet it hadn't healed past this point? Without properly looking at it, he wouldn't be able to give an accurate estimate on its age, and God, did he want to. 

Mycroft was in the same boat, though his eyes fell on the teen that was a bit older than John, but only by a few months. Gregory, though young with black hair, already had a few strands of gray mixed in. That mixture was not only on his head, but was also included in the happy trail that he also sported. His body was pale and just slightly less built than John's, but there was something more about him that caught Mycroft's eye. He was just... having trouble putting his finger on it. 

Trying to distract themselves, the Holmes brothers tried to look away and ended up glancing at each other before averting their gaze in mock disgust, only to hide the heat that had started to spread over their cheeks.

Had it not been for the light sound of pain and the echo of Gregory 'tapping out' on the floor, they would've remained that way for a minute or two. “Uncle! Damn it! Uncle!” Greg shouted out as John had pinned him down and was pulling on his leg. The laughter that slipped from John was disgustingly sweet and Sherlock gave Mycroft a look that said, 'Mine's better than yours'. Of course, that was met with an eyebrow raised to which Sherlock waved him off. He hadn't meant to deal his hand, but what did that even mean..? 

When the lithe youth looked back to the two though, there was something else about John that caught his eye, but this time, it was bizarre. John's eyes had changed, just for a brief moment. They were sharp and almost slitted like that of an animal. Feline? No. Canine, perhaps? But once John blinked, his blue eyes had returned to normal. What the hell was wrong in Sherlock's head? Never had his eyes lied to him when he was well and sober. 

It was then that the two had finished fighting and seemed to notice Sherlock and Mycroft watching them, the two panting softly before they began to giggle out and lay upon the floor in hopes of catching their breath. “Turn. On. The. Tele.” John said and waved his hand, gesturing for Sherlock to do so. The younger brother only continued to watch the intoxicating sight of John for a brief moment more before he did as told, not quite in his right mind to deny him. 

Once the tele was on, John and Gregory returned themselves to their feet and gathered their discarded clothing, starting to pull it back on. Once done, they both fell into the couch, looking at the others expectantly. 

“Was all that quite necessary?” Mycroft asked before clearing his throat. Despite almost being eager to sit beside Greg to observe him closely, he made it appear as a reluctant move though he sat down far more gracefully than Sherlock did, who sat on the couch and managed to put his feet in John's lap all at once. 

“You can join us next time if you like. It'd be nice to have some help. I've never beaten him before, and it'd be nice to turn the tables.” Greg said to Mycroft with an attractive grin upon his lips which caused an unfamiliar sensation to burst in the young man's chest. “Right.” He replied dismissively and sat back into the soft cushion, watching as John took a bowl of popcorn and rested it on the teen's shins. 

Funny enough, if one were to peer in on the group, they'd wonder when this had turned into a double date.


End file.
